Willow Denton needs to get out of town fast. Her only option is joining her brother’s band on tour. Ten weeks with misbehaved men doesn’t sound so bad. Until she walks in on the drummer naked and sporting a spanking new piercing. There’s no way the player rock star will ever think of her as more than his BFF’s little sister. Better to focus on her photography. As soon as she stops thinking about him in her bed, against the wall, in the backseat of his car…

Sinful Serenade drummer Tom Steele is a wrecking ball. Bossy. Pushy. Hot as the molten center of the Earth. He’s not afraid to use his body or his fame to get what he wants– a different girl every night of the week (and three on Sunday). The man may be a whore but he can control himself. He’s going to keep an eye on Willow, be her friend. That’s it.

A knock on the door disrupts my already unsteady hand. Shit. That’s a mess. “Just a minute.” I wipe my eyeliner clean with a wet tissue and answer the door.

Tom looks me over. He copies the tone I used earlier. “That’s what you’re wearing?”

“Is there something wrong with it?”

“It’s 90s night. You need color. Come on.” He steps into the room and crouches over the suitcase, pawing through my stuff. He tosses a navy mini skirt and a pink crop top on the bed. “That will be better.”

That will certainly be less. The top is minuscule and the skirt is barely long enough to cover my ass. “I don’t think so.”

“Try it.”

I shake my head.

He reaches for the bottom of my dress. “Don’t force me to remove your clothes.”

My heartbeat picks up.

“You have five seconds. Four.” He looks me in the eyes, daring me. “Three.”

I step backwards. “Okay. I’ll try it. Wait in the bathroom.”

“As you wish.” He does as he’s asked.

The room feels different without his presence. Colder. Less inviting. I change into the skimpy outfit as quickly as possible.

“Okay. You can come back.” I press my hands over my stomach as I check my reflection. I can’t wear this. It’s nothing.

Tom looks me up and down. All that smugness falls of his face. His eyes go wide. His lips part. “That’s no good.” He pulls my hands to my sides, his fingers brushing my exposed skin.

“Why?”

Tom traces the exposed skin on my side, from the top of my skirt to the bottom of my crop top. “Just change back.”

“Why.”

His cheeks flush. “It’s too sexy.”

He’s nervous.

“Change. Now.” He shifts towards the bathroom, his body brushing against mine.

He’s still close. Still warm. I reach for him, get the back pocket of his jeans. I need to say something. That I can be sexy if I want. That it doesn’t matter what Tom thinks.

Only it does. I want him to think I’m sexy.

“Tom.” My hand brushes against his hip. “I… I want to look sexy. You do. You always look desirable. Why can’t I do the same?”

I go to step back into some bold, confident pose, but my foot catches on the bedspread. Shit. I slip and fall backwards. My ass hits the bed. Then slides down to the floor. Bam. I’m on my back, my legs spread. I press my hands into the ground to push myself up.

Tom’s gaze passes over me. It stops between my legs.

“Uh…” His eyes cloud with desire.

He watches me with rapt attention as I rise to my feet. At my thighs, my hips, my stomach. By the time he works his way to my eyes, I’m buzzing like a power line.

Touch me, please.

Throw me on that bed.

Kiss me.

Something.

About the Author

Crystal Kaswell writes steamy new adult and erotic romance books. She loves when flawed characters fall head over heels for each other. Especially if they fall into bed first. She loves police procedurals, tea, and The Hunger Games series. She lives in Los Angeles with her husband.

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About Me

I am a blogger, an author, a reader, a big sister to 15+ kids, and I live on an island in between the Atlantic and the Caribbean, which I like to call Invisible Island.

I am not the average blogger/writer. I go through a lot to get things done, and sometimes they are not always what I think they are. I have to check, and re-check to make sure it is up to par. Dyslexia is not easy, but God is faithful.